My hair is going gray. White, rather. It started at age 30, a stressful year. That was the year I started collecting data for my dissertation. It was also the year we purchased a house on my graduate student stipend and Brewguy's photographer job. Money was a constant concern. My advisor had advised me into an experimental design with 64 cells. I was faced with the prospect of running hundreds of participants in groups of 4 (max). No wonder my hair turned white.
It's turning white in streaks at my temples. I think it's rather cool, a nod to my Celtic heritage. However, it's been an interesting experience in societal pressure. My hairdresser is starting to make comments about "highlights," and "covering." I no longer get carded at the liquor store. I see other Moms glancing subtly at my temples. Should I cover it? Dye it?
In other news, the gerbils in Little Brewer #2's classroom died over the Christmas break. No one seems to know exactly how, although one theory is that they died from being overfed. RIP, Pizza and Brownie. LB#2 says, "Brownie and Pizza died. I'm sorry for them because I'm sad that Brownie and Pizza died." Short and sweet.